Edward Oneshot
by TurquoisePanda
Summary: Oneshot. Edward's last moments of "living" before becoming a vampire. "Yet, now, nothing seemed to matter. I felt my soul floating between this world and the next, as if I was not truly there. I was just a shell, waiting to pass so my soul could also."


Had it not been for the fact that I was, as they say, about "to meet my maker," I would find this situation utterly ironic.

By situation, I am referring to how currently I lay in a vomit covered bed, with barely the strength to turn my head as another round of nausea smears both the tiled floor and the flat mattress I lay on with my stomach vile, mixed my blood. My life source.

A few nurses came in occasionally, to check on us; the ones who were doomed to die. Any poor soul who finally submitted to fate the nurses wheeled away, only to replace that corpse with another patient, waiting to become like the one before him or her. I use the term "patient" loosely, because from what I know doctors are supposed to try to treat their patients. Instead, bodies were poured into the room, offered some last moments of living before heading to the grave.

If you could call this living, that is.

At first, I could not believe that it would end like this. Not with my mother and my father dead. _I have so much to do_, I thought. I could not let this be my end. However, denial only lasted a few moments. I replayed my visit here in my mind, over and over. As if doing so could change the hand's of time.

I didn't come to this hospital dying of the flu, like most. Instead, I had been standing by the nurses' station, trying to see my recently admitted parents. I demanded access to them. She argued, "Our doctors believe that this disease is bacterial. Spreading and catching the flu can be easily done."

I yelled at her. Never before had I raised my voice to a woman. I told her that it was none of her business. If I died, it made no difference to her. Finally obliging, the nurses made me wear a mask, saying that they did not want me to catch it as well. As if they cared about me. They just did not want another body to deal with. I snatched the mask from the nurse's small hand, and managed to shove a small "thank you" between my lips after getting direction to my parents' room. Why did they always paint hospital halls that terrible white color? It glared at me, almost making me dizzy. I remember the halls stretching for eternity; their narrowness seeming to increase at each footstep I took.

I finally stood before my mother's room. I reached for the door-handle, only to stop just as my fingertips reached the cold knob. I closed my eyes, my emotions tearing me to pieces. Behind this door, my mother lay dying. A part of me wanted to rush to meet her, to see her, to hold her hand, to tell her how much I loved her. However, another part of me, perhaps somewhere deeper then the other; was scared to see her. My mother, a pillar of support for my family, lay wasting away. So easily taken down by a disease. Could I stand to see her crumble before me?

_Coward._ That's what I was. Had our roles been switched, my mother would already be by my side, gently comforting me. I could not abandon her.

Taking a deeper breath then necessary, I snapped my eyes opened and quickly opened the door, to face my mother before another wave of doubt struck my conscience.

There she was. Lying there. In a cramped room, clearly meant for one person though stuffed with four beds. The glaring lights bore down on her, making her already fair skin look more pale and sickly. Her green eyes, that were so like mine, seemed so dull now. The whites of her eyes were dinted red, the once depth of emotion of her emerald eyes were flat, and hard to read. I cursed in my head. The influenza had affected more people then the government could ever have estimated. Quietly, I sat down next to her bed on a stool, eyeing both her and my father, who slept on his bed which was next to hers. I held my mothers hand, stroking the gentle skin with my thumb. I looked into her eyes deeply, and squeezed her hand gently.

It was so painful to see her like that. Even the light of the room seemed to glaze over her eyes, no longer sparkling, as they should. Her eyes slowly rolled to mine, her lips tugging slightly down, as if even shifting her sight pained her. Gently, she asked if I could get her wedding ring. I looked down at her hand. I should have noticed. The pale skin on her ring finger looked so naked, my hand suddenly felt awkward to hold hers. With a promise to return soon, I left to fetch her wedding ring. Slowly moving down the hall, I could hardly reach the nurses' station with my request before having to bend over from dizziness. Before I knew it, I was heaving my breakfast as both reality and the floor slipped from underneath my feet.

I woke up in my current state. Lying on a bed, dying from what was also killing my parents. When the nurse saw my frantic awakening, she explained. I visited my parents against their wishes. I was found in the hall. I was passed out. I had been out for over twelve hours. My parents had passed away. I was dying.

My parents had passed away.

As I said before, denial didn't last too long. It's hard to deny a death sentence when blood begins flowing from your nose, while your stomach feels like it's being ripped out. As the nurses finally left me to sort through my thoughts, I quickly began the next stage of death.

Anger.

How ironic that just as I was to turn eighteen, to go off to the glory of the war, an influenza pandemic hits. How ironic that I had dreamed of the sublimity of battle, and now I lay weak and dying in a no-name hospital, where I have nought the strength to stand, let alone hold a weapon.

I waited for a nurse to come around, to hopefully take away the disgusting sheets that were on me. I am sure, if not for the fact that my nostrils burned with the stench of my own puke, I would smell the rotting, lifeless body next to me. Waiting to be taken away. Waiting to be buried.

Waiting for my cold corpse to join him.

My arms were heavy as lead, and even breathing became a task in itself. I could feel a boulder on my chest, trying to squeeze the last breath out of me. If I exhaled too deeply, it was nearly impossible to inhale as much as I had before. Every muscle in my body was protesting as I shifted slightly. Lying in the same position for hours had caused both my body and my mind to become stir crazy. To sit and wait for death was not an easy thing.

I knew that I would not live beyond sunrise.

A nurse finally walked over to me, muttering words to herself. I couldn't really understand, and I squinted my eyes to get a better look at her, but then thought against it. I had a splitting headache, and the way the lights above glared off of her glasses…

I moaned, quietly I thought, though she heard. I could tell she did not want to get too close to a dying shell of a person, but she could not ignore her medical duties. She, with gloves and a mask on, slowly took the light sheet off me, and I felt like as if she was prepping me for surgery. Another nurse walked over, this one looking older, with her hair in a tightly pulled back bun. She was speaking to the younger looking one. Both wore full gowns, covering every inch of their skin.

"Poor dear," She murmured, and I could not tell if she were speaking to me, or if she was simply stating a fact. She reached to the left of my bed, and grabbed some kind of cloth to wipe the blood from my lips I had spit up. I thought for a moment what it must be like, to be in her position, looking down at a boy like me, knowing that I would die. Knowing I knew that I was a dead man. Would my eyes haunt her? I felt my green eyes bore into her brown ones; I could not find the will to look away. I imagined in my head what I must look like. My droopy, fevered eyes, shacking slightly from trying to concentrate. My ragged, slow breathing. She smiled at me, a tired, old smile, and then turned to attend to the next patient.

I was not sure if her pity angered or comforted me.

It reminded me of the most ironic thing of all, the one that made my chest tighten and my eyes close tightly shut. The irony that I had wanted to show my mother that I could take care of myself, even in war. The war wasn't an affliction, I'd insisted. On the contrary, it would bring our country, and our family, great pride. I had wanted to go out on ship, to see my mother smile at me when she realized that I was going to witness extravagant things, and be apart of a dignifying event in history. She would wipe away stray tears with her index finger as she watched her son transform into a man. And I imagined the day I would return home. I would imagine my mother crying with joy, her shouting my name up to me as my ship went to dock. I could see my father, his eyes proud as he acknowledged me as a true war hero. I would walk down to where they were, in a crisp uniform. She would hug me, repeating that she loved me like a mantra. Like as if she did not say it enough, I might slip through her fingers and disappear. My father and I would shake hands, and then even embrace each other. We would smile, and go home to tell them stories of what it was like. What a soldier's life was like. I'd walk into the house, and it would feel like eons since I last opened our white painted door. I would touch the low table in the living room, where my mother kept our few but sacred photos on display. I would miss our house; it's quaint cheeriness.

My mother kept our house a home with each loving detail she put into it. Our house itself had character, as the builders of it knew that this house would serve its purpose for not only them, but for the ones to come. My great grandfather, who had sailed over with my father's father to the new world, build that home. He moved to get a new job, where they all were optimistic for this country. My father took great pride in telling me the stories of our history when I was a child. Stories of how his father taught him how to use a pistol, and he would teach me someday. After all, every man had to know how to use a gun. My mother would hush him for telling me such stories, and would instead try to educate me on table manners. Even as a child, I could tell. My mother and father were engulfed with their love for each other. Between their morning kiss before he left for work, and the way their eyes met when doing simple things as doing the dishes, I could tell.

But none of that mattered anymore. Both my mother and my father were dead.

Soon, I was to join them.

A cough ripped through my lungs, a sickly portion of phlegm sticking to my tongue. Slowly, I swallow it back down. Previously I had tried to wipe the substance off, a difficult task in itself seeing how my arm was hardly willing to cooperate, to try and get rid of the horrid taste. However, that just led to more gagging. I also felt the slick liquid of my blood slip back down my throat. How long would this last? I glared weakly at the ceiling, the striking white hurting my already burning eyes. The walls were not helping much either.

Is this how my father and mother had gone? The hours slowly ticking away, each second that disappeared, so did an ounce of strength. How I would give anything, _anything_, to see my mother again. Childish as it was, her gentle smile would take the ache away in my joints, the tears that filled my eyes from the horrid sensation, and with her soothing touch, she could fill the invisible hole in my chest.

I had not realized that it was possible to feel so dead, while still living. My mind felt as if it were in a state of comatose, the only thing seeming real was the pain; both physical and otherwise. At first, each minute spent terrified me. I wanted to fight this fate of mine, to conquer death, cheat the devil. However, as the reality of my parents' passing sunk in, time did not seem to go fast enough. I wanted the hours to go. I wanted, so badly, for my time to be up. I needed to see them again.

Yet, now, nothing seemed to matter. I felt my soul floating between this world and the next, as if I was not truly _there_. I was just a shell, waiting to pass so my soul could also.

The nurses' mumbling amongst themselves awoke me from my pondering. Funny, how thinking of my inevitable death could so simply be labeled pondering. It seemed…demeaning. I could hardly hear, though I think one said, "Another one." Ah, they had discovered the body next to me was no longer breathing. I wish I could have told them when he died. I opened my mouth to speak, but I could not form words.

My tongue felt swollen. I tried to remember the last time I had a drink of water, and recognized it as the moment I last threw up. Lovely.

Nonetheless, my throat ached for some sort of refreshment. The nurse must have heard my panged gasps, as her face filled my line of sight.

"What's wrong? Are you having trouble breathing?" Her voice sounded calm, but I heard the note of panic at the end of her question. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head; I could feel my brain hitting the inside of my skull as I did, my skull aching as it was cracking…breaking…

"Water," I rasped, feeling sandpaper scrap my throat as I swallowed. Her wide eyes scanned the room, telling the woman who was with her to go fetch some. I could feel her small hands grab the sides of my head, and I barely opened my eyes to see her blurry face staring down at me.

I saw in her eyes so many emotions, though they all had the same tune. Pity, sorrow, and horror. The intensity of her look made me uneasy, and had I been in better condition, I would have fidgeted uneasily as I realized that she had given up hope. Hope for me, hope for everyone in this dreadful building. Even for herself.

Each emotion was set farther in the depths of her blue eyes, like an ocean raging with a storm. As if by peeling away each layer of feeling, another one would surface. The black bags under her eyes showed her exhaustion. The way her arms looked so heavy on her petite form as her co-worker handed her the glass, then tilted my head up so the nurse with ocean eyes could allow me to drink.

The water hurt my throat going down, but the afterward relief almost made me smile. Almost. I could only hope my eyes reflected my gratefulness as hers reflected the sadness she felt.

I did not notice that the nurse had put my head back down. I barely registered the same sad smiles on each woman's face as they both walked away from my exhausted person.

Was this what it felt like to die? To have every nerve in your body feel like it was being tightly wound, as if being the strings of a violin, being tightened. Tightening. Stretching. Snapping.

I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly tired. I had to repress a shudder as I wondered if I was truly burned out, or finally ready for death to take me.

I let my eye lids relax for just a moment, letting the darkness take me in. For just a moment, I didn't want to be strong. For just a moment, I wanted to admit defeat. For just… a moment…

My eyes snapped open as a startling convulsion awoke me. More blood spewed from my throat, onto the dark floor. When had I…?

It took me a moment to realize that the room was much darker then usual. The lines had always been drawn from the few windows on the wall-whether to hide our hideous forms, or simply take away the torture of looking outside while knowing we will never return to such a place, I was not sure-but still, I could somehow sense that it was night. Perhaps the way it seemed the artificial light from the ceiling seemed to struggle with the darkness more… Had it always been this quiet in here?

Of course, how did I not notice? Where were the nurses? The ocean eyed woman? Where had they all gone? A sudden wave of panic overtook me, as my eyes horridly scanned the room over and over, trying to find someone. Anyone.

I couldn't bring myself to be at peace with the idea of dying alone. Even if it was with a woman I had never met before, I would rather die with at least some human company, rather then companionless. Was I truly that pathetic?

Though technically, I suppose I was not _alone._ Some of the poor saps in this room with me were still living. At least, I _assumed_ they were. That thought tossed around in my mind for a few seconds. I suddenly was not sure which disturbed me more; the fact that I was, indeed, keeping company with corpses. Or the fact that it took me so long to realize this, when it should only of taken me a moment.

My breathing quickened and I immediately realized that hyperventilating made the aches on my sides hurt ten fold. So I concentrated on my breathing, not the fact that I was sure I was one of the few still doing so.

Roughly, twenty or so other people were in the hospital room with me. I was in a larger room then the ones my parents were in. That thought accruing; I mentally flinched away from the thought of my recently deceased loved ones. It was hard; there was not much else to think about. I tried not to look at others' chests, to see which ones still moved up and down.

Someone coughed, and I let out the breath I did not know I was holding. Had we been left in here…to die? Did we become abandoned? A sickening twist occurred in my stomach, and I felt the urge to vomit. Though this time, not from the sickness.

Is this what a soldier felt like in a losing battle? When he was given orders to stay and fight, even though both he and his general knew that it was a death sentence? Did he feel remorse? Hatred? Did he want to spit in the authorities face and save his skin?

I looked down at my arm to notice it was trembling. I tried to move it, but I was too weak. I tried to wipe the sweat pooling in my palms on the sheets, but my hand would not listen to me. Slowly, I realized how the walls and the ceiling started to look the same, as slowly they became one. Not in the slowly melting kind of way like you read in novels, but it happened quickly. One minute I was in a room, the next, nothing made sense. I heard more gangling coughing, but no relief came as it had before. I quickly realized that the breath being sucked away was _mine._

It was funny, how one moment I could feel so dead, and the next be on the verge of insanity. Were they one in the same?

_It'll be just like falling asleep, it'll be just like falling asleep…_

Such repetitive words, I hissed to myself. Little good my mantra will do me, I thought. But I couldn't help it. I needed to be consoled, even if it was by myself.

Maybe…maybe it _would_ be like falling asleep. However, how can anyone fall asleep, knowing the image they saw as they closed their eyes will be the last they ever saw?

Regardless of my little rant, my eyelids were drooping. They felt so _heavy._ I took long breaths, some more uneven then others. My limbs did not move; they had become like stone. Even basic thoughts seemed so out of reach, as if I was slipping away.  
How utterly cliché.

However, even in my crazed mind, I could slightly comprehend what was happening when someone walked in. I only knew someone had entered by the creaking door, I could not hear their soft footsteps. My eyes were closed, I did not have the strength to open them. I felt something like stone slipping underneath my back and knees.

I felt my body being pressed, though not roughly, against something hard and cold. My head rested gently - well, as gently as one can curl next to a rock-with my arms folded in my lap.

I could vaguely register that I was being held.

Perhaps I was being taken to my grave? But…I wasn't dead. Couldn't they tell? At least, I assumed I wasn't dead. Was this death? Could not be…this wasn't right.

Heaven wasn't supposed to hurt so much.

My head still felt heavy and fevered, and I let out a small sigh as my forehead rested against the brisk being. My throat still felt as if it was torn apart from the blood and stomach acid it had coughed up. My limbs were lead. Completely useless.

Had I been in the right state of mind, I would have been panicked. Being taken away to who knows where, by someone, or something, I didn't know, should have sent my mind into a frenzy.

But it didn't, not while I was so far gone.

I could not help the small moan that escaped my lips, as I realized how badly I wanted this to be over. Whatever was holding me held me just a bit tighter.

Suddenly, fresh air hit me like a wrecking ball. The cold air sobered me from my sickly state, though only shortly. I inhaled sharply, the wind burning my nostrils as I did so. In my head, things were blurring together. As soon as a thought came, it blew behind me in the wind. My mind was spinning with the acceleration. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to stop the spinning.

When I opened them, it was to a new scene. I realized that my head was no long heavy with the cold as the stranger laid me down on…what? A bed? Why was I not panicking? Everything was so serial. I didn't understand why this was happening. But at the same time, I didn't care. I couldn't think straight, couldn't think at all. I just knew that, somewhere inside me, I was a bit happy. That I was not dying alone in a cold hospital. Even if I did not know this man-at least, I assumed this stranger was a man by the strength and mass of the arms that carried me-I found comfort. I suppose that's just human nature, or my own way of finding peace on the deathbed.

I wanted to know. I wanted to know who to thank for staying with my dreadful self. With the little strength I could muster, for the first time, I looked at his face. My human eyes could barely uncover him shrouded in the darkness. I second questioned myself if I was dead. Even with half his face covered, I could tell he was no ordinary man.

I've never been much for religion. My mother prayed to God every meal, and I attended the Catholic Church with my parents every Sunday. For some reason now, I found myself humbled in front of this angel. Embarrassed, even. I moved my eyes to the ceiling, my eyelids drooping. Maybe he was here to take my soul. What was it worth? The man's skin seemed to glow, even in the darkness. He bent closer to me, and when the angel spoke, the emotion in his voice was not what I expected.

"I'm sorry…" I heard those last words, and a chill, not from this strangers skin, ran through me. For a moment, I felt relief as his arctic breath caress my fevered neck. At that moment I understand, or to the best of my knowledge. He was an angel, but to take my soul to hell. I should have guessed as much. My senses seemed heighten, as I heard his lips part and open beside me. I couldn't comprehend what the angel was doing, but something in me told me to fight. _No, _I thought. It was useless, my fate was sealed at this moment. Something hard as iron gently clamp my neck; I was far too intoxicated by the man's scent. Then, as quicker then humanly possible, his teeth pierced my neck.

Then my world exploded into fire.


End file.
